


Work Life Balance

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 4 Horseman AU, AU mashup, Coworkers - Freeform, Death Dean, Death and Afterlife, Famine Sam, Immortals, M/M, Pestilence Crowley, Tumblr Prompt, War Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: As leader of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, one of Dean's duties is to balance Order with Entropy, and enforce the will of the Fates.  When Castiel's nature as the demigod of War urges him to destroy more than he should, he seeks out Dean's council.





	Work Life Balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazshero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazshero/gifts).



Little fingers press against Dean’s palm, and he gives them a reassuring squeeze as he watches the heartbreak spread across the faces of the nurses as the doctor calls time of death.  The soft crying of the witnesses turns into broken sobs that make even Dean’s ancient heart squeeze painfully.  

“Will they be sad for a long time?”

Dean looks down at the spirit of the child gripping his hand.  In the last days of her life, her body was thin, and ravaged by sores.  In death, she’s beautiful, practically glowing with the the power of a young soul that hasn’t dimmed from a long lifetime of use.  “They might,” he answers honestly.  “But not forever.”

“I wish I could tell them I feel better now.”  Her large brown eyes swim with metaphysical tears as she watches her parents mourn.

He smiles at her.  What a gentle heart.  Many children make wishes when they pass from the world of the living.  Sometimes they don’t want to leave, and they wish to go back.  Some wish they could see a beloved pet again, or say goodbye to their friends.  A large number of them wish they could take their toys with them, which always delights Dean.

If he had the power to grant wishes, the ones made on behalf of their lost loved ones are the wishes he’d be most eager to fulfill.  Alas, he’s the embodiment of Death, not a Djinn.  “I wish you could too.”

She heaves a sigh that expresses a knowledge only gained by death.  “Thanks.” She gives him a watery smile.  “So what’s next?”

“You have a journey to make,” Dean says.

“Like Dora the Explorer?”

He laughs at her sudden excitement.  “Yes, just like that.”

She bounces on her toes when he introduces her to the Reaper assigned to lead her to her next destination.  Only once does she look back, waving goodbye to him and to her parents who have yet to come to terms with the sudden termination of her short life.  Then she fades away, her spirit absorbed into the larger fabric of the Universe.

“I’d feel more sorry for them if they weren’t anti-vaxxers,” Sam says from nearby.  “How many of the other kids here do you think might be dying because their daughter was patient zero at her school?”

“All of them,” Dean answers.  He spares a glance for the mourning parents, and grimaces.  Crowley’s anti-vax movement has been very effective.  

He always does his best work using misinformation rather than spreading actual plagues.  Even the Black Death became the massive killing machine that it did because he’d convinced people that cats were The Devil’s creatures.  So many cats were wiped out, they could no longer keep up with the plague carrying rats infesting human cities.  Crowley was quite proud of that one.

That many falling to him at once was overwhelming.  He and his reapers had been overworked, and he’d been pretty pissed about it.  Especially since each death had been so intensely miserable.  Dean is neutral to death because everyone succumbs to it eventually, but that doesn’t mean he condones such cruel methods.  

Which means it’s time to intervene.  “Crowley.”  He feels the other horseman’s presence fill the hospital before it condenses down into the form of a small man in a tailored suit.  

“You called?” Crowley asks in his crisp British accent.  It’s an affect; Crowley has existed since before English started stealing words from other languages, and long before the most ancient forms of verbal communication.

“You’ve made your mark here,” Dean says.  “It’s time to lift your touch from this town.”

Crowley scoffs.  “Only 9 have been infected.  I’ve barely started–”

“It’s enough,” Dean commands sharply.  “The Fates have other plans for these people, and you’ve already interfered with their work enough.”

“Fine,” Crowley drawls, clearly unhappy with the order but unwilling to go against one of the few beings that has the power to demote him from demi-god to corpse.  “I’ve got some mosquito populations to check on.” He smiles tightly. “Can’t let all the rainforest loggers get off without a touch of Malaria.”

He’s not asking for permission, but Dean tips his head in acknowledgement anyway.  It isn’t his goal to anger the spirit of Pestilence, only to maintain a balance.  “I’ll send some Reapers with you.”

That perks Crowley up, because it means that his victims won’t survive the disease.  “Splendid.  See you around, Boss.” He nods to the gaunt shadow at Dean’s elbow.  “You too, Sam.”

He disappears before either of them can respond.  

“He’s such a bag of dicks,” Sam sighs.  

“No shit,” Dean agrees.  “Good at this job though.”

Sam makes a noncommittal sound.  His eyes follow the spirits being led to their next destination by Dean’s reapers.  

A tug behind Dean’s sternum pulls his attention across the country.  His lover rarely summons him so urgently, so Dean sets aside his current plans to see what Castiel needs.  “I’m needed elsewhere,” he says out loud, sending the message to all the local Reapers.

“Dean,” Sam says softly.  “Please.  You summoned me here for a reason.”

“I did.  I’m sorry I forgot.” Dean grimaces and rubs a hand over Sam’s shoulder.  “There’s a janitor downstairs.  He’s been sneaking into patients rooms that he has no business in.”

Sam’s eyes darken with greed.  “A damaged soul?”

“Let’s just say that he’s worse for children than measles,” Dean says.  “He’s scheduled to slip and crack his head open in a few hours.  I’ve instructed my Reapers to leave him to you.”

“I appreciate it.”

Dean pats him again, and hopes the touch conveys how proud his of Sam’s current restraint.  He knows how difficult it is for him, being the only horseman who suffers when he doesn’t use his powers.  An eternity of addiction and starvation is a punishment he doesn’t deserve, and Dean would shoulder that pain for him if it were within his powers.  But he can only settle for helping Sam maintain his balance, by making sure he feeds often enough that he stays strong enough to keep his powers reined in.

The love and gratitude in his brother’s eyes tells him that Sam knows.  It’s enough for now.

They say their goodbyes and Dean spreads the great shadow of his wings.  In the scope of the universe Earth is miniscule and it takes barely half a flap to reach his destination.  He stretches them wide before folding them back into his essence, and looks around.  

The Oval Office is dark, the current president not the type to stay up late worrying about matters of state.  But there is still a figure slumped in the chair behind the huge desk.  A smile tugs at the corners of Dean’s mouth when his eyes fall on his lover.  “I thought you’d given up stealing thrones.”

Castiel huffs a soft laugh.  “I’ve been given more thrones than I stole.”

“Hmm, my mistake.” Dean walks around the desk, and when Castiel swivels the chair to face him, he straddles his thighs and anchors himself in place with arms wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders.

Their lips meet in a kiss that is mostly greeting, with a tiny lick of heat.  Even after eons, the passion driving their relationship has hardly dimmed.  But Dean can sense that Castiel needs him for more than a quick fuck over the desk.  There’s a different need emanating from his skin.

Dean tilts his head until their foreheads bump.  “What’s wrong, Cas?”

Castiel’s sigh warms the space between them.  “I’m finding it very difficult to maintain the balance.  Between the rise of despots with a hunger for nuclear weapons, and dictators draping themselves in the flag of democracy whipping up their most frenzied followers into violence, I find myself very busy for how little actual battle these humans participate in.”

“I’ve noticed.” Dean doesn’t offer platitudes or advice.  War is Castiel’s domain, not his.  And often, Castiel just needs a sympathetic ear, which Dean is qualified to provide.

“I miss the Cold War,” Castiel grumbles.

Dean laughs.  “Bullshit.  You were tearing your hair out trying to get someone to push the big button.”

Castiel’s icy glare could drop a human on the spot, dead of heart failure.  Dean just thinks it’s adorable.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Wiping out all of humanity would render me obsolete.”

“You still wanted to see it happen though,” Dean counters with a grin.

“I’ve seen civilizations wiped out by supernovae.”

“But that was my work.” Dean wiggles in Castiel’s lap. “It’s not the same.”

Castiel huffs his annoyance and wraps his arms tightly around Dean’s hips, holding him still.  He presses his face into Dean’s chest.  “Please don’t mock me.”

Dean sobers, and runs fingers through Castiel’s hair.  Sometimes he can pull Castiel out of his existential funks with a little teasing, but this is apparently not one of those times.  “Talk to me, Cas.”

“Maybe I am just God’s Hammer.” His voice is muffled by Dean’s shirt.  “And this battle against my baser nature has only one inevitable end.”

“You wouldn’t have these doubts if that were true.” Dean refrains from pointing out that these internal ‘battles’ are part of his nature as a god of War.  It’s a lesson Castiel will eventually learn on his own.  As the youngest of the horsemen he still has a long life of learning ahead of him.    

Castiel hums and nuzzles closer.  “Tell me of your doubts.”

“I set my Reapers on a hospital full of kids with measles today,” Dean says.  “And I’m not seeing that trend stopping any time soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s the nature of the job.”

“Still.” Castiel lifts his head and looks up at Dean with kindness and understanding.  “I know you don’t enjoy when your touch lands on children.”

He doesn’t enjoy any aspect of his job.  Okay, maybe he enjoys feeding the souls of the truly terrible to his little brother sometimes.  But being the instrument of entropy in the universe isn’t exactly fun, even if he knows that there’s no other way it can function.

“Yeah,” he says.  “It always sucks.  But none of our jobs are exactly easy.”

“Crowley seems to enjoy himself.”

“He’s a bag of dicks.”

Castiel laughs and pushes his face against Dean’s chest.  “I wonder if this is what a mid life crisis feels like.”

He’s nowhere near the midpoint of his life, but Dean can’t–won’t–tell him that.  “Is that what’s going on?”

“Well I’m very old,” Castiel says dryly.  “I believe I’m entitled.”

“Pfft.” Dean flicks a finger against the collar of Castiel’s current favorite outfit.  “You’re just a baby in a trench coat.”

“I watched the first fish crawl from the ocean, Dean.”

“I’m literally older than dirt,” Dean counters.  “And molecules.”

Castiel’s essense brightens, and Dean knows that he’s finally broken through the shell of his bad mood.  “Dirty old man.”

“You make me young.”  Dean nudges Castiel’s chin, forcing him out of hiding.  He presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead and then another to his lips.  “My existence started with yours.”

It’s sappy as fuck, but as much as he loves his brother, and occasionally enjoys Crowley’s antics, his heart finally found true joy when Castiel joined their ranks.  

“You are not a Hammer,” he continues.  He cups his hands around Castiel’s face so he can’t look away, and strokes his thumbs across Castiel’s cheekbones.  “You are a Weaver.  Spiders would cry in awe if they could conceive the delicate webs you create.  You weave nets to contain and stabilize the balance of the universe.”  

He kisses Castiel again, nudging until lips part under his own.  He’s rewarded with a moan, and Castiel tilts his head, leaning into Dean’s touch.  Castiel kisses like he’s trying to win a battle, but Dean calms him with his touch, keeping the passion at a simmer instead of letting it turn into an inferno.  When he finally lifts his head, Castiel blinks dazedly up at him.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers.  “I am a creature of destruction.  I don’t–”

“You are an creature of peace as well as war,” Dean whispers.  “Balance.”

Castiel closes his eyes, and settles under Dean’s touch.  “Sometimes I internalize the vision humans have of me.  Thank you for reminding me that there’s more to me than violence and death.”

“I’ll always be here for you. As leader, and lover.” Dean peppers more kisses over Castiel’s face.  “Until Time itself fades, and I reap the last vestiges of the universe.”

“Thank you.” Castiel stays pliant under Dean’s touch, and he smiles.  “And I love you too.”

Dean pecks him right on the lips again.  “Existential crisis averted?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good,” Dean says brightly.  “Now what do you say to desecrating this desk?”

Castiel surges to his feet, carrying Dean’s weight with him and depositing it on the polished surface.  “There’s nothing holy about this desk.”

Dean is already tugging at Castiel’s clothing.  They could dismiss it with a thought, but they’ve both spent far too long with humanity, and enjoy the trappings of physicality.  “It’ll be the most holy, after I make you see god tonight.”

“We’ll see who’s crying for god’s mercy when I’m through with you,” Castiel growls.

Dean laughs and allows himself to be pushed flat.  He already knows they’re both going to win.

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the ages of each Horseman:
> 
> Dean/Death came first. Once life came into existence, so did Death.  
> Sam/Famine came second. The first causes of death was starvation.  
> Crowley/Pestilence came third. Infection and disease was the next cause of death.  
> Castiel/War came last. Competition for resources became the most violent form of death.


End file.
